


The Third Rule

by saltandlimes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Behind the Scenes, Brainwashing, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9324059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: There are only three rules to success in life. If you follow them, Hux knows, you will rise above the masses. His father taught him that the rules were the only way to achieve anything worthwhile.There's only one problem. Hux has never been good enough to follow the rules.





	1. Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like more explanation of the tags, see the end notes.

_Father says there are three rules to making people follow you._

  1. _Charm. Father says that it’s better to make people want to do what you say than to force them to do it. He says that if they adore you, they’ll do what you like, sometimes even before you ask._
  2. _Practicality. It’s only important to charm people you can get something from or who can help you advance. The rest don’t matter._
  3. _Detachment. The worst thing you can do is care about them. Father says that I must always remember that I am the only one that matters here. Everyone else is just a means to my ends. If I forget that, that’s when I’ll fail._



_Journal of Armitage Hux, 14 ABY_

***

\------- Classification: 50 -------  
\------- 0838, 22 First Month, 30 ABY --------

TO: ARMITAGE HUX, COL  
SFO FINALIZER

\---message begins---

Arrival of KYLO REN, apprentice to SL SNOKE confirmed for 1540, 24 FIRST MONTH. Quarters requested. KYLO REN to assume join command with COL HUX. Exact division of duties outlined in following communique. HUX to remain in control of day to day Finalizer maneuvers but requested to accommodate REN whenever possible.

\---message ends---

***

At 1530, Hux makes his way down to the hangar. Kylo Ren's shuttle – a hulking mess of an Upsilon, too large and obtrusive for Hux's tastes – had dropped into normal space a few minutes before. Right on schedule, and Hux thinks that bodes well for the future.

As he rounds the corner and steps into the corridor leading to the hanger doors, six stormtroopers fall into step behind him. He'd been a little unsure what sort of greeting Kylo Ren would expect. It's entirely possible that the Supreme Leader's apprentice will expect a full honor guard or something of the like. But even Hux isn't willing to bend that far. If Ren is going to be coequal with him, then he'll greet Ren just as he would greet another colonel. It's only fitting, and should get them off on the right footing.

The doors open in a hiss of hydraulics, and Hux makes his way onto the hangar floor, boots clicking, hands clenched behind his back. He wishes, just for a moment, that he had a cigarette. Anything to worry with his lips, to take a drag of. It might help stop the temptation to shift from foot to foot, might help him ignore the urge to tremble and shudder and then catch himself. But smoking, gaze lazy and indolent as he blows smoke out of pursed lips, that would be no way to greet his new co-commander. Not to mention the absurdity of an open flame in the hangar bay. Hux sighs, straightens his spine. _Charm_. That's all he needs here.

There's a warning siren as the Upsilon begins to the breach the outer layer of the hangar shield. Hux watches as its wings fold in on themselves, retracting as it settles to rest on the hangar floor. As the struts finish extending, flex against the weight of the shuttle in Finalizer's gravity, Hux steps forward. The stormtroopers’ boots sound loud against the floor, drowning out the tip-tap of his own heels. Then he's facing the ramp as it lowers, bright light spilling out of the shuttle as the atmospheres equalize in a rush of steam.

Hux's first glimpse of Kylo Ren has his stomach flipping nervously, his insides clenching so tightly he can hardly breathe. Ren is huge, a looming shape in black robes that flutter behind him. His face is covered, a mask obscuring his features. It gleams in the light of the hangar, dull silver and leather. Hux's eyes flit to Ren's wide belt. Instead of a blaster, something else hangs there.

It can't be.

Hux dearly hopes it isn't. He's heard stories, of course. He’s seen holos of both Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, blades gleaming even through the wan light of the recordings. And this, this looks like one of those. It's clipped to Ren's side, a strange cross shape, and for a moment Hux wonders if he's imagining what it is. But even he can't be that self-deluding.

A lightsaber.

Hux cocks his head slightly to one side. What other surprises does Kylo Ren bring? A lightsaber means a Force wielder. And while Hux may have resigned himself to dealing with the Supreme Leader on a regular basis – command of Finalizer, command of the flagship practically guarantees it – he's not so sure of having to share command with another strange creature on a regular basis.

Will the rules even apply?

He isn't sure. But there's no chance to ponder the question, because Ren is stomping down the ramp, tread heavy and ponderous. Hux takes a single step forward, straightens his back even farther.

“Kylo Ren. Welcome to the Finalizer. I'm Colonel Hux.” Ren's helmet tips to one side, heavy cowl falling in shadowed folds around it.

“Colonel. I believe we'll be working together quite closely.” It's impossible to tell what Ren's voice would sound like, freed of that constricting helmet. It's deep, its echoing sonority a menacing roar. But there's a note of humor running through it. Something at the base of Hux's spine uncurls a little. If Ren can sound this relaxed, pleasant, even behind that mess of a uniform, then perhaps this will work out.

“Indeed. As to that: would you prefer to see your quarters first, take a tour of our ship, or meet with me?” Hux uses the possessive carefully, smiles at Ren with a half-quirk of his lips when he says it. If this is his lot – to share his command, to stand beside this hulking mystery, then he may as well accept it. _Charm_. There's no use getting off on the wrong foot.

“I have studied the plans extensively. If you're available, Colonel, I'd like to begin discussing our course of action.” Hux nods. Preparation and a desire to begin working. Perhaps this will work quite well.

“If you'll follow me, then?” He doesn't wait for Ren's reply, but turns on his heel. He has only taken a few steps before he feels Ren fall into step beside him, long legs matching Hux's stride for stride. Yes, this may work out quite well.

***

_Father says that I'm paying too much attention to the younger cadets. I tried to explain that I was trying to learn how to lead. He laughed. He said that I wasn't supposed to actually care about their progress. I was supposed to care about how they helped me. He laughed at me again, and I don't know... I don't know how to make myself different. It's just inside me, this stupid need to try to help. It's so weak. I should know better by now. He told me that charm isn't the same thing as care. They need to want to please me, not the other way round. And I... I don't want to... I can't go to reconditioning again. I can't. I don't. It doesn't work. Not ever. I still have this stupid fucking feeling inside, and I just. I need. I don't know. I have to fix myself somehow this time._

  
_Journal of Armitage Hux, 17 ABY_  


***

 **[From: Ren. 24.03.30, 1345]** I have a new assignment from the Supreme Leader. I will require a squadron of stormtroopers.

**[To: Ren. 24.03.30, 1349]** I will be free at 1430 to discuss the assignment and which trooper squadron to deploy.

Hux rolls his shoulders. They’ve grown stiff from the hours standing on the bridge, from ages spent with his kneecaps raised and his hands clasped behind his back. He hasn’t seen Ren all day, not since the conference yesterday when Ren stalked out in the middle of a discussion of new weapons acquisition. 

Hux still has the slight indentations of his fingernails in his palms from where he’d dug them in too deep, from where he broke the skin after Ren walked out. _Charm_

He’d looked later, of course. The holo chamber had activated 16 standard minutes after Ren left the meeting. Hux had soothed his aching hands in a basin of water, grateful that the only thing he’s done wrong is this. Grateful that he'd controlled himself long enough to see what had called Ren away. All he has is another line of twisted scabs to add to those already littering his palms. The rules always work. 

Ensign Mitaka comes over holding a board for Hux to review and Hux takes it gingerly. Its edges press into his hands and he feels his stomach clench at the ache. It’s a good pain, clear and bright. Mitaka raises an eyebrow but then his expression smoothes. Hux shakes his head slightly. He needs to leave, go to his office, if he’s letting such minor things affect how he appears to the crew. He signs the board. 

“I’ll be in my office. You have the con, Lieutenant Callan.” He stalks out of the room, each footstep echoing up his boots to reverberate somewhere near his knees. The walk to his office is short, and Hux keeps his hands clasped behind his back, blindingly aware of the ache in between his shoulderblades. It will keep. Not for very long, but it will keep. 

He lets go once the door to his office slides shut, flexes his hands inside his gloves and debates shrugging out of his uniform for a few seconds, stretching the knots out of his shoulders. But Ren will be here soon, and there’s no good impression to be made while standing in the middle of his office with a sweat-stained undershirt and contorted limbs. Instead, he goes to sit behind his desk. 

He’s just opened up his datapad, started reviewing the latest trooper training files, when the door chimes a request for entry. Hux looks up as it slides open and Ren stomps inside, and his knees ache in sympathy with every heavy fall of Ren’s boots. 

“Kylo Ren. I was just reviewing the trooper files…”

“You were upset when I left the meeting yesterday.” Hux pushes the datapad to one side. He presses his knees together, bones clacking with a hollowness that reverberates up his thighs. He only just manages not to ball his fists up, remembers that there’s soft leather against his palms and he’ll get nothing out of the habit but aching hands. 

“I was. I was concerned that you’d walk out of such an important discussion without a word.” Hux bites back a sigh. His heel taps up and down, flutter fast. Ren noticed his annoyance, and that’s just… he plants his foot firmly on the floor. 

“But you’re not worried anymore?” Ren cocks his head to one side, helmet tipping. 

“No.” Hux forces his legs to spread apart, to relax against the cramp of tension that’s crawling up one of his calves. “You have your own duties, and the Supreme Leader can call on you to perform them at any time. It would be foolish of me not to recognize that.”

“And you are not a foolish man, Colonel.” There’s a grating sound through the voicebox of Ren’s helmet. Hux takes a deep breath. 

“Where are you heading on your mission?”

“I hardly think that concerns you. No course deviation will be required. I will take my own shuttle.” Hux shuts his eyes for a long moment. He counts to ten, then bites hard on the inside of his own mouth. He can feel blood starting to seep out of his cheek, can taste the chalky metal. He opens his eyes. 

“I need to know so I can assign a proper trooper squadron. There are groups that specialize entirely in jungle combat, for example.” Ren inclines his helmet.

“It will be urban work. There is an operative working for the First Order who we have been informed may be intending to defect. I need backup in removing him from his current assignment and returning him to the Order for questioning.” 

Hux tries to subtly arch his back a little to relieve some of the pressure between his shoulders. Too much, he’s holding too much inside, and he’s never, ever been good enough to let it wash away. He focuses back on Ren’s words, the uneven cadence of his voice. Capturing an insurgent. 

“Will the troopers be undercover?” 

“Most unlikely. The world is First Order controlled. Our operative has been keeping tabs on a known Resistance agent trying to recruit from the population.” Hux’s mouth tightens.

“And you think he’s going to defect?”

“I would prefer he did not, wouldn’t you?” Hux dips his head absently as he brings up the urban-specialized squadrons currently aboard Finalizer. There’s the FN corps, but they’re far more elite than Ren needs on this sort of trip, and anyway, they’re due for a rotation on Starkiller Base. He pulls up DH’s file. Good marks in urban encounters, one deployment to quiet a disturbance on Vallt, a few more minor skirmishes. Probably perfect for Ren’s purposes. 

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

“Not more than a fortnight, I expect.” Ren leans forward a little. “Are you planning anything in my absence, Colonel?” His voice is light, but Hux hears an odd ring even though the warping distortion of the helmet. 

“I need to know how long to sign the troopers out to you for.” Sign the troopers out, and Hux’s stomach flips. Sign them out, not assign them. Maybe he’s finally learning what they really are: just tools in their missions, just weapons to aim and fire. Maybe Hux is finally, finally becoming better. Ren grunts. 

“If that’s all, Ren, I’ll have them in front of your shuttle at 0545 hours tomorrow?” Ren stands in a swirl of black robes. 

“That’ll be all Colonel. Enjoy _signing the troopers out._ ” And Ren sweeps out of the room. 

The moment the door closes behind him, Hux reaches up and frees the clasp of his collar. He pants a little in the stillness left by Ren’s disappearance. His shirt feels clammy under his uniform.

***

**[To: Ren. 01.04.30, 1546]** Mission status report requested.

**[From: Ren. 01.04.30, 1550]** Proceeding as planned. Will return to Finalizer no later than 12.04.30

**[To: Ren. 05.04.30, 1620]** Mission status?

**[From: Ren. 05.04.30, 2039]** No change.

**[To: Ren. 10.04.30, 0423]** Estimated time to return to Finalizer

**[From: Ren. 10.04.30, 1223]** Colonel, please cease in your attempts to determine the course of my mission. I will return when the job is completed, and no sooner. 

Hux pushes hard at the power button on his datapad and watches Ren’s message disappear off the screen. He unclenches one fist and wipes the traces of blood from his palm absently across the side of his pants. He should have put on gloves before he opened Ren’s message. 

He stands and paces to the corner of his office. Those are good troopers out there with Ren, ones he can rely on. He pounds his hand into his thigh. He needs to know when he can have them back. There’s a problem in the Unknown Regions that he wants to use them to sort out, and then they’re due back for a rotation on Starkiller Base. Ren can’t possibly think it’s idle curiosity pushing Hux to keep asking about his mission.

Hux pauses, stops still in the center of the room. Then he makes his way back to the desk, trying not to let the trembling of his stomach flutter up his clenching hand. 

_I will return…_

He reads it again, eyes moving faster over the exchange. _I_. His nails bite hard into his palm this time, and he hardly notices the blood seeping through to coat his fingers. Hux slumps into the chair. Ren’s not likely to respond to another message. He bites his tongue. Those troopers matter. They matter very, very much.

***  
\-------- Classification: 3 --------  
\-------- 0239, 13 Fourth Month, 30 ABY -------

TO: ARMITAGE HUX, COL  
SFO FINALIZER

\---message begins---

Mission objective achieved. Operative neutralized. REN to arrive aboard at 2045, 13 Fourth Month. Request debrief approximately 3 standard hours after arrival.

\---message ends---

***

Hux is in bed when his datapad chimes at him. It’s not a personal communication this time, not like the ones he’s been using to ask Ren for status updates. Rather, it’s the soft sound of an official communication, one filed permanently with the records corps. He pushes himself further up against the headboard and sets aside the logistics board he’s been using to review data from the latest munitions delivery. 

He pulls the blanket tighter around his waist as he reads the message. Still no mention of his trooper squadron. And the debrief is later than he would like, but there’s nothing to do about that if Ren is going to be arriving that late. It’s not as though he won’t be up, anyway. He sets the datapad back down on the stand next to his bed. His first shift begins at 0545. He should get some rest. 

***

Hux is in his office when the message comes through that Ren’s shuttle has landed. He’s embroiled in the latest problems with the mobile reconditioning stations some of mid-level command has been asking for and waves at the com halfheartedly. 

“Tell the squadron of DH troopers to report to Phasma for debriefing immediately.” There’s a crackle of static from the other end of the com, the sound of a sharply indrawn breath. 

“Trooper squadron, sir?” Hux tears his eyes away from the reconditioning sims and stares at the com. 

“Part of DH corps? They should have arrived back with Kylo Ren.”

“Kylo Ren arrived alone, sir.” The world fades out in front of Hux’s eyes just a little. 

“Thank you,” Hux manages to gasp out. His chest feels tight, as though it’s clamping over a piece of missing bone, something wrenched out of it. He can’t breathe. 

_Alone. Ren arrived alone._

Hux is halfway down the corridor leading from his office before he even knows what he’s doing. His skin feels tight across his knuckles, stretched across his cheekbones, holding him together. As though a single scratch could have him falling apart. 

An entire squadron of troopers, gone. Troopers that he knew everything about, from their biometric data, to what planet they were born on, to their preferences in sleeping habits. Everything. All gone, wasted. Without a message, without a single sign that they had died or been lost or anything else. Unmourned and unwanted. 

Wasted. 

And Ren hadn’t even had the courtesy to say anything to him about it. Hux turns around at the end of the corridor. There’s nothing to be done down there. He has a meeting with Ren in three hours. He can wait. His skin feels like ice, glacier coating him as he walks back into his office. He can wait. 

***

By the time Ren shows up for the debriefing, Hux has bitten the inside of his lip raw. He’s sucking the blood from his teeth when Ren steps inside. He stands to meet Ren. 

“I thought you said your mission was a success.” His stomach twists at the harshness in his own voice, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“It was. I eliminated the operative. He had indeed been making plans to defect. I also eliminated the Resistance spy that he was in communication with.” Ren’s voice is flat through his helmet, a monotonous buzz of nonsense. Hux wants to rip it from his head, to see Ren’s eyes. 

“I don’t care about your fucking spy, Ren. What the fuck happened to my troopers?” _Charm_. That’s not charm, but Hux can’t feel his palms in order to break the skin. He can’t feel the pain of his lip anymore. All that’s left is the sick twist of his stomach, the bile that fills his throat as he thinks of all those dead troopers. 

“Casualties of eliminating a traitor.” Ren’s voice is slow, and he takes a step towards Hux’s desk. Hux grabs a stylus. He wonders if he’s strong enough to break it in two, to snap the metal that holds it together. He thinks right now, he might be. 

“They were only troopers, Colonel. Disposable.”

“Disposable!?” Hux shouts. And the stylus is flying out of his hand to bounce, useless, against the faceplate of Ren’s mask. “They were troopers, Ren. I trained them. Phasma taught them for years. Perfectly conditioned _people_ , Ren!”

He’s around his desk, nose to nose with Ren before he can even consider it. There is no charm in this, no careful manipulation of the circumstances. There’s only blood leaking from Hux’s bitten lip across his teeth and the harsh sound of his own breath. 

“Careful, Hux. People might actually think you care.” Before he can even consider what he’s doing, Hux spits in his face. He watches as it slides down the side of Ren’s mask, a wet streak across the dullness of the black. 

“I do fucking care about my troops, Ren. You should too. Why the fuck are you in command otherwise? What did you do to deserve this, if you don’t fucking care?” Ren reaches up to wipe the spit away from his mask. He takes another step forward and he’s so close they could touch. Hux can smell the stench of flame and ash on him, the musk of old sweat. He wants to rip and tear Ren to shreds, to make him another disposable casualty. 

“So much anger, Colonel. You’re usually better at hiding it than this.” It all comes crashing back then. What is Hux doing? Where are the rules? _What is he doing!_

He tears off his gloves, flings them to the floor of his office. Then he’s pushing past Ren, out, out of the office. 

“They’re just troopers, Hux.” Ren’s voice drifts after him. 

His ears ring as he pounds down the corridor. Hux takes tiny gasping breaths, chest heaving underneath the stiff fabric of his uniform. He’s in the lift before he can think of where he’s going, requesting the lowest levels of Finalizer’s bowels. The bottom drops out of his stomach as he descends. 

He hasn’t been down here in months. Most of the work on the new mobile reconditioning centers has been done at his desk, not face to face with the facilities on Finalizer itself. And now he’s walking down to auxiliary control before he can even think of where his shoulders are facing, of where his feet are taking him. 

Hux slams his hand into the controls for the door, feels the scabs on his palm split and crack. Then he’s stepping into the empty control room. 

He broke the rules. He broke them into tiny pieces and he spat in Ren’s face. 

That is not charm.

He broke the rules again. He’s broken again. He pants, bent over the consoles that control the reconditioning chambers. Just a single push of a button and he could try to fix himself. Could try to make himself just as right and perfect as those troopers Ren lost. As those people who were wasted, just thrown away like trash. 

Ren is so much better than he is. 

Just a few switches toggled and he could try to fix that. He could try to make himself right, could try to wash away all the pain inside his chest. He could try to wipe away this feeling. Could try to make himself better. 

But it won’t work. 

He clenches his hands into fists, feels the blood painting his fingertips again. It won’t work, because it never does. It never has. He cannot be _reconditioned_ into following the rules. He cannot be made to be right again. 

He cannot be taught not to care. 

Even if he steps inside one of the reconditioning chambers, even if he turns those switches, presses the button, he will still be broken. He can hear Ren’s voice laughing in his ears. _They’re just troopers_. Even reconditioning will not teach him to believe that. 

No. He needs to learn to follow the rules, not to try to give himself an easy way out. 

He should know that by now. 

Hux pushes himself off of the console. There are spots of blood where it has seeped out of his clenched fists to fall in droplets now peppering the table. He uses a corner of his sleeve to wipe them away. He can get the droids to wash it out later. They’re good at that. 

His shoulders still feel tight, his throat is still full of bile. He wipes his palms off against his tunic, looks at the smears of sticky red along his finger joints. 

He can follow the rules. He knows how to do that. 

***

_He found out. I [word illegible] I was stupid. I forgot to wipe the logs the last time. I'm such a fucking [word illegible, flimsy almost torn through] He called me into his office and just laughed for a long time. And I just had to stand there and wonder what I'd done this time. And then he hit me. My lip's split, and I don't know how I'm going to hide it tomorrow. I don't even know if I should. It was my own stupidity, after all. “Armitage, you know what reconditioning is for, right? I know I have a weak fuckup of a son, but I didn't think you were stupid.” And I just nodded, like a trooper or something. “It's for loyalty conditioning. Not fucking fixing little twerps like you.” And he's right, of course he's right. He's always right. I should never have used it. I've tried so many fucking times, and it never works. Because I don't have a loyalty problem. It'll never work on me. I'm too fucking broken for that. I just... I just want it to do something. I want to stop feeling this way all the time. I want to be able to follow the rules. I want... I just want to be [word illegible]._

  
_Journal of Armitage Hux, 18 ABY_  


***

It’s late by the time Hux finally makes his way back to his quarters. He’d rinsed off his hands in a fresher just outside of reconditioning auxiliary control, cuts burning from the heat of the water. And he’d made his way to the lounge, found himself a corner. 

He doesn’t remember anything he read on his datapad. Only the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his lips, the harsh rasp of smoke through his teeth. The feel of another butt crushed against the ashtray. 

His veins are almost singing with it now. 

And that’s better, so much better than before. So much better than the aching, pulsing anger from his office, the desperation from the control room. He’s light as air, and he can follow the rules now. 

He sinks into the armchair near his desk and pulls of his boots. His heels still hurt from his shift this morning, and he focuses on that, the everyday pain of his bones aching. That, and the throb in his palms that never seems to leave. They mean that he’s been following the rules. 

Hux pulls out his datapad, taps it open. 

He has to prove it to Ren now. He’s not sure how to fix things with the knight. Is Ren somewhere, fuming over Hux’s disrespect? Hux crosses and uncrosses his legs. He doesn’t think so. Not with the mocking tone of Ren’s voice, not with how Ren seems to understand the rules better than Hux ever has. 

**[To: Ren. 14.04.30, 0348]** Kylo Ren, I owe you an apology for my earlier behavior.

**[From: Ren. 14.04.30, 0350]** Do not trouble yourself, Colonel. It was most enlightening.

**[To: Ren. 14.04.30, 0355]** It was conduct unbecoming of an officer of the First Order. I’d like to set it right, if I may. 

**[From: Ren. 14.04.30, 0357]** What do you have in mind?

**[To: Ren. 14.04.30, 0400]** Let me have you to dinner. Privately. We can discuss things more rationally there.

**[From: Ren. 14.04.30, 0403]** Charming, as you often are, Colonel. Very well. When do you suggest?

**[To: Ren. 14.04.30, 0405]** The day after tomorrow? 2000 hours? 

**[From: Ren. 14.04.30, 0408]** I’ll await an explanation and an apology eagerly, then. Goodnight, Colonel.

**[To: Ren. 14.04.30, 0409]** Goodnight, Ren. 

When Hux finally slides between his sheets, hands bandaged as well as he can manage in his slightly intoxicated state, he doesn’t dream. Not of reconditioning, not of the troopers he’s lost, not of the rules. He simply sleeps, blank, empty, like a vessel waiting to be filled. 

***

_I finally got a place on a ship. It's been three months since I graduated, and I was starting to worry that I wasn't going to get placed. But it turns out that Admiral Constantine requested me specifically, and they had to wait to place me till the Allegiant was back in system. Father had a dinner in celebration of the placement. I got my new uniform because of it, thank goodness. I like the gloves, of course. They're quite soft, and they... It was good to be able to shake hands at the dinner and not worry about embarrassing myself. The insides of them are a little messy, already, but I think that'll get better. My hands are starting to heal, after all, since I'm wearing them all the time. Father actually said he was proud of me at the dinner._

  
_Journal of Armitage Hux, 18 ABY_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Self harm: Hux digs his fingernails into his palms hard enough to bleed when he feels like he's breaking his father's rules. 
> 
> +Past child abuse: Hux's diary entries include mentions of his father hitting him.
> 
> Thanks to [thecopperriver](http://thecopperriver.tumblr.com/) and [artyaourter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/) for looking this over and making sure I actually made sense!
> 
> Come hang with me on tumblr at [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)


	2. Practicality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for specific warnings.

Hux closes his eyes, resting his head in his hands. His neck aches, the back of his shoulders tight, his spine throbbing. He lets one hand down, grips the edge of his desk, knuckles white. As he tightens his fingers, his chest expands, lungs filling against the insistent pressure of the day. 

“Tired, Hux?” 

Hux’s eyes fly open at the sound of Kylo’s voice. He nods. 

“You should take a break some time.”

“When?” Hux shakes his head, stretching upwards. “We’ve worked together for three years, Ren. When have you ever known me to take a break?”

Ren steps closer, his robes sweeping after him. 

“You have dinner with me every week, Hux.”

“And you think that’s a break?” Hux scoffs, pushing back from the table. Kylo’s fists flex at his sides, and he steps even closer, almost leaning over Hux’s desk. 

“Are you bored of me? Maybe tired of me doing the Order’s dirty work while you push paper?”

Hux’s eyes fly open all the way, and he jumps to his feet. He straightens his back against the ache, pulling himself up to face Kylo.

“Careful, Ren,” he snarls. 

They stand there, silent, facing one another. Hux takes a deep breath, the sound of it rattling through the air. Kylo’s head tips to the side minutely.

Then, all of an instant, there is a rush of sound. Hux isn’t sure who starts laughing first, only that suddenly, his sides ache with the force of it. He doubles over, clutching his belly. Kylo, too, is shaking with it, the sound rasping through his mask. 

Hux gasps. His hands fly out, fingers clenching again on the desk, panting as he finally stops laughing. He hangs his head, chest still heaving. 

“Alright, Ren,” Hux wheezes. “You’ve woken me up. What do you want?”

Kylo shrugs. 

“I wanted to see you. You skipped our dinner last week.”

“You… wanted to see me?” Hux raises an eyebrow. “Ren, one might almost think you care.”

Ren steps around the desk, and Hux turns to follow him with his eyes. Ren is so close now, and Hux’s breathing doesn’t even have a chance to slow. Instead, it simply stops, caught in his chest. He wonders, if he inhales, will his ribs press their fragile cage to the black curtain of Ren’s body?

“Perhaps I do,” Ren whispers. The sound through the mask is a low growl, and shivers dance across the aching back of Hux’s neck. 

He breathes in the words, drinking them down with slow relish. They tremble in his ears, and Hux feels as though they’re purer than the filtered oxygen of the ship, more nourishing than the careful rations he lets fill him every day. His stomach clenches, his heart beats loud in his ears. It is too much, more than he can stomach, richer than he can taste.

Hux’s hand shoots out, fingers finding purchase on Ren’s shoulder. He pushes Ren out of the way, going to the door to grab his hat. Hux’s hands shake as he plucks it from its place on the wall, and he pulls it into place. 

“I will see you for dinner tomorrow,” Hux tells Ren, clipped, formal. “I have work now.”

He stalks out of the room. Hux refuses to let himself continue to tremble. This is absurd. He has been having dinner with Ren for years now, should be used to the low growl of Ren’s voice, the imagined quirk of his lips when the mask hides his face. Hux should not have to run from his own office when Ren gets too close, shoulders hunching away from the possibilities of Ren’s touch. He takes a deep breath. 

Hux finds he’s made his way back to his quarters. The door slides closed behind him, and he leans against it. Now, inside the silent shell of his own walls, Hux lets his throat tighten, his thighs shake. His head falls back against the wall. 

After long seconds, he shoves himself up, unsealing the neck of his jacket. He releases the clasp of his belt, letting it fall to the floor. When Hux sinks into the chair across from his bed, his shoes are next. He sprawls there, legs wide and jacket open. He wants to grab a tumbler from the cabinet recessed into the bulkhead behind him, pour himself a measure of whiskey and drown in it. He wants to let the feel of Kylo’s static closeness melt away into a haze of drunken oblivion. 

Hux closes his legs, pressing his thighs together. _Practicality._ He bites his lips, sitting up straighter in his chair. There is no place for the fog of intoxication, the slow slide down into blackness. There is no room to wake, head aching, charm all gone into the ache of his temples. The bones of his knees knock together, hollow sound in the empty silence of his room. 

Hux stands. He tosses his uniform away, falling into bed without even washing the sweat from his skin. If he can’t have the oblivion of the bottle, he’ll fall into the arms of sleep. 

***

**[Personal log, Armitage Hux, 10.10.32]**

_I’ve been having dinner with Ren for two years now, almost three. At first, I spent all my time fuming over his inattention to the troops, his focus on his powers, his obsession with searching out traitors to the Order. It was all I could do to follow the rules, to stand there with a smile on my face and my hands clenched in my lap, nails digging furrows into my palms, new scars forming with every new week. But… but… I think I’m finally… Well honestly, I’m not sure what’s happening. When I missed our dinner last week, it was all I could think about. I told Ren today that I don’t view our dinners as stress relief, but I do. I do. It’s nice to have a moment to just let go of being the one in charge._

_But today, with Ren so close… My heart started to beat so hard I thought I might pass out. Could I use…_ Practicality. _The dinners are practical, both for maintaining the peace, and for me, for my life. But with my heart beating like that, my pulse throbbing in my veins, I wonder if there is some other use, if I need to let out this petty biological ache so I stop… So I don’t wonder about it any longer._

***

Hux straightens the chairs on either side of his small table. Ren is late, and the food’s going to get there before he does. Hux paces around the room, heels tapping. On his third circuit, he knocks his hat from its peg next to the door. He’s bending over to pick it up when the door chimes. Hux straightens, crumpling it for a second, the starched fabric loud in the ringing silence after the bell. Then he waves the door open. 

“You’re late,” he tells Ren. 

Ren reaches up, unlatching his helmet with a hiss. When he takes it off, his hair is unbraided, falling down around his face in a curtain. Hux twists his hat up in his hands, then jerks his arm out, hanging the cap back on the wall. 

Before the door can slide shut behind Ren, a droid bustles in, setting two trays on the table, then hurrying out. Hux’s lips stretch for a second. The droid must have been waiting for Ren’s arrival, not wanting to aggravate either of them. 

Ren tosses his cowl over the back of his chair, lowering himself carefully into his spot. For long moments, Hux lets himself watch the predatory tension that is Ren’s shoulders, the way that he sits, menacing, poised on the edge of the seat. 

Then Hux settles himself across from Ren. He lets his legs fall open and slumps in the chair, a perfect contrast to Ren’s predator’s grin. 

“You look exhausted, general,” Ren pulls the covers off their trays. “Are you sleeping?”

Hux shrugs. By now, he’s used to the sharp rasp of Ren’s questions, blunt insults only half hidden. 

“I’m building a weapon that will save the entire galaxy, Ren. It doesn’t give you a lot of time for shore leave.”

Hux spoons some protein mash into his mouth, chewing slowly as he watches Ren’s eyes tighten. He licks a drop from his lips, sucking them clean. 

“Always so proud,” Ren scoffs. 

“Honesty is essential for good command, Ren,” Hux responds, taking a long drink from the vitamin supplement next to his tray. 

“You don’t command me.”

“No,” Hux admits. “Should I lie to you then, Ren? Should I claim less than my due?” Hux laughs. “Would you believe me if I did?”

Ren takes a moment to finish his stew, grimacing at the toughness. Hux watches his lips tighten and relax, the push and pull of his tongue behind his teeth. Yesterday’s hesitation has fled, and all that seems to be left is the flutter of his fingers against his tray, the whisper of his breath as he watches Ren. 

“I would not have you lie.” Ren rises from his chair, stalking over to where Hux is sprawled. “Your pride is a lie, Hux, but I care little for that. But I would not have you lie about your needs.”

He’s so close now that Hux can feel the electric tingle of his presence. Hux’s pulse speeds, his stomach twisting.

“What makes you think you know anything about what I want?” The words growl as they pass Hux’s lips. He straightens, surging to his feet to face Ren. 

“Your gaze, your hands, the rush of your breath. They all betray you, general.” 

Hux widens his stance, planting his feet. _Practicality_. Ren is right, after all. He needs something to relieve the insistent press of his desires. 

“And you, Ren?” He holds his hand up, not quite cupping Ren’s cheek. “What do you ache for?”

“Wild abandon. Lust. The sharp taste of pleasure as it rushes through the veins.” Ren presses into Hux’s palm, lips pulling back into a snarl. “You.”

“What makes you think I am yours for the taking?” Hux asks. Ren’s words sing through his veins, and he begs silently for charm unequaled by any afforded to him before.

“I do no think you belong to any save the Order, and the prison of your mind, Armitage Hux. And yet, I will take those pieces not caught in your trap and build something new.”

Hux feels a growl rising in his throat. He buries his hand in Ren’s hair, wrenching Ren’s head back in a parody of submission. 

“I am not caged,” he snarls.

Ren says nothing. Instead, he closes the distance between them, pressing his body to Hux’s chest. Hux groans. 

“Show me,” Ren whispers. 

Hux has not kissed in years. It is not practical, a dalliance with someone under his command. But Ren, for all the aggravation he causes, is not Hux’s charge. Ren is to be appeased, placated, worked with. Ren is meant to be charmed. 

When their lips meet, Hux cannot stop the way his hand shakes in Ren’s hair. He cannot help the way his tongue flicks out, tracing the seam of Ren’s lips, searching for entry. He wants to break his way in, show Ren that is Ren who is caught in his beliefs, Ren who is unable to escape. He groans as Ren’s hands come to wrap around his waist. 

When his belt clangs to the floor, Hux pulls away from the kiss. Ren’s fingers are tracing circles over the curve of Hux’s waist, and Hux’s hand has found its way to the back of Ren’s neck. 

“What do you want?” he asks again. 

Ren pauses for a second, hands stilling, his eyes bright.

“To fuck you,” he responds. “To have you moan my name, beg me for more. To taste the sweetness of your release, to drink you down. I want your eyes to fill with tears, your mouth open, screaming for me.”

“You always need too much for yourself, Ren,” Hux tells him, and Ren’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of his sides. 

“And you for too little.” 

Ren pulls him closer, pressing their bodies together. 

“Do you think I don’t know how you ache at night, trying not to think of how my hands will feel playing over your skin?” Ren begins to unseal Hux’s uniform. “I know, Hux.”

Hux’s hands are clenching around Ren’s shoulders before he can understand what he’s doing. He shoves Ren backwards, tearing off his own jacket and leaving it to fall on the floor in a heap. He stands there, trembling in his undershirt, the cold of the ship sinking quickly into his skin. 

“Show me, if you know so much. Show me what I want.”

He turns away from Ren, then, stalking into his bedroom, half dressed, cock just thickening in his trousers. He does not look to see if Ren follows. Instead, he makes his way to sit on the bed. When he looks up from unzipping his boots, Ren is standing in the doorway, watching him. His cowl falls from where it dangles on his fingertips. 

Hux forces his legs to stay open. Here, charm is display. Here, practicality is leaning back, arching his back, forcing his fingers to come to his own nipples, to stroke and pinch and caress until they are peaked. Until Ren’s eyes burn with need and he stalks over, hand coming to palm Hux’s cock through his thin trousers. 

And then, then for a moment Hux forgets about the rules, and there is only sensation, and heat, and the press of Ren’s skin against his own aching body. 

***

Hux lies on his back, the weight of Ren’s arm heavy across his waist. He lets his eyes flutter open. The room is dark, the automatic daylight just starting to wake and filter out of the fixtures on the ceiling. Hux is warm. For long moments, he simply stays there without thought. Empty, almost, washed out by the night before. Slowly, he lifts a hand and runs it over his face. 

Then he rolls out from under Kylo’s arm. Hux dresses quickly and goes, clearheaded and clean, to his shift on the bridge. 

***

Ren is gone by the time he returns. But he shows up the next even at Hux’s door. Hux pauses, stares as him, but then he lets Ren inside. His efficiency went up 7% the day after Ren stayed over. It’s only practical, after all. 

It continues. 

It continues for weeks. Weeks turn to months. Hux wakes, warm and satisfied, each morning. The smell of Kylo’s hair, the slick feel of his skin, they all grow familiar. Hux starts to sleep without a shirt, hair falling soft across his face as fingers find their way to their home above his heart. 

When Hux sees Kylo in the halls, now at least, some of that same warmth tingles in his fingertips. His palms start to heal. On the bridge, Hux relaxes a little, his heels tapping a little less. When Ren rounds a corner, Hux’s lips twitch, trying to pull up into a smile. 

At night, Hux comes back to his quarters, stripping down to his tunic and pulling on thin sleeping trousers. Most of the time, Ren joins him. Hux carries his datapad to bed, waiting for Ren to strip down to his leggings. 

When Ren climbs into bed, it sinks down under his weight. Hux takes a deep breath, letting the thick smell of Ren’s skin fill him up. It’s heavy, sweat think, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers when he would have shied away from it. But now, he nestles back into the wide stretch of Ren’s chest. He buries himself in it, drowning. Hux fills his lungs with it, Ren’s hands going to wrap around his waist. 

Hux works then, turning every so often to press his face into Ren’s neck. Ren laughs sometimes, and the rumble of his chest echoes through Hux’s ribcage to settle low in his belly. 

***

Months pass. 

***

\------- Classification: 75 -------  
\------- 0012, 14 First Month, 34 ABY --------

TO: ARMITAGE HUX, GEN  
SFO FINALIZER

\---message begins---

URGENT: Mission Assignment. Gen. HUX and KYLO REN to meet with SUPREME LEADER at 0800, 14.01.34. ACKNOWLEDGE?

\---message ends---

***

 **[To: Ren. 14.01.34, 0014]** Did you see the summons?

 **[From: Ren. 14.01.34, 0015]** Yes.

 **[To: Ren. 14.01.34, 0015]** Do you know what it’s about?

 **[From: Ren. 14.01.34, 0017]** I have my suspicions. 

**[To: Ren. 14.01.34, 0017]** And you’re not going to tell me? Naughty, Ren. I thought we were partners. 

**[From: Ren. 14.01.34, 0018]** Impatient, General. You’ll find out soon enough.

***

The meeting is long. By the end of it, Hux’s back aches, stiffness creeping up his vertebrae to twine its way across his shoulders. When Snoke’s hologram disappears, Hux turns to Ren. 

“Skywalker?” he asks. 

Ren’s helmet lowers slowly in a nod of assent. 

“Why now?” Hux quirks an eyebrow. 

“We finally have the resources to eliminate the threat. I finally have the strength.”

“We don’t even know where to find him.”

“We have all but one missing piece.”

Hux sighs, reaching up to run a hand across his hair. 

“And you’re sure we can find that piece, find it before the Resistance?”

Ren steps closer. The heat of his body presses itself against Hux’s skin, even here, in the deep cold of this room at the end of nowhere in the ship. Hux breathes it in for a second. 

“Do you not believe I can?” Ren asks. 

“I believe in you,” Hux tells him, and that is that. 

***

They leave Starkiller’s orbit almost immediately after they hear about the Resistance’s raid on Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor’s ship. Hux clenches his fingers when the reports come in, jaw aching as he reads. The Resistance is gaining ground, a thorn in his side that he cannot dig out quite yet. Practicality. He doesn’t have the resources to quash every flea bite incursion. This is, of course, a little different. 

He sent ships. The moment he found out the Resistance had grown bold enough to threaten a senator, he sent every available troop. And yet, the ship is lost, and every bit of information in its memory banks. 

Ren storms into his office just minutes after they get the report that the ship has fallen. He slams his helmet down on Hux’s desk, glaring across it. 

“They know,” he snarls. 

Hux quirks an eyebrow, forcing his hands to relax, his fingers to unclench. 

“They know what, Ren?”

Ren paces across the room, robes sweeping around him. His feet tap on the deck, heels banging out a harsh rhythm. 

“About the map. About Lor San Tekka. The stars know what else they learned from that Force-damned ship.” 

“How?” Hux thins his lips. Ro-Kiintor has been a good friend to the Order, but he’s nothing but a smokescreen in the senate. Hux himself only learned about the map a few weeks ago. 

“He’s an agent. Of mine. Of the Order. I asked him to look for San Tekka. I thought…” Ren runs a hand across his face. “I thought he might be able to do what we cannot.”

Hux’s eyes widen. He purses his lips for an instant, then rubs a hand over his face. 

“It’s only been a few weeks, Ren. We haven’t failed yet.”

“Well it doesn’t matter.” Ren’s voice rises even higher. “They know. They will find him.”

“Why do you care so much?” Hux asks. He steps closer to Ren, one hand rising, almost catching Ren’s shoulder. “It’s not practical, worrying about Skywalker.”

Ren paces away from him. He pauses at the wall and his palm smacks flat on the bulkhead. When he turns back to face Hux, his eyes are brighter than Hux has ever seen them. 

“Don’t you get tired of that, Hux?” Ren asks. 

Hux raises an eyebrow.

“Tired of what?” he returns. 

“All that bullshit. ‘It’s not practical’” he quotes at Hux. “Maybe not. But we need to deal with it, no matter what. Sometime you have to get it into that narrow mind of yours that there is more to life than service and manipulation. That is not the way to true power, Hux.”

By the time Ren finishes, they are so close to one another that they are almost touching. Hux’s breath comes in quick spurts, tearing through his throat to hiss between his clenched teeth. He reaches up, fingers coming to rest in Ren’s cowl. He tightens them, pulling Ren even closer. He feels the press of Ren’s chest against his, Ren’s bulk heavy against his narrow frame. 

“What do you know of power, apprentice?” he asks. 

Ren’s body stiffens against his. His hands come up, and suddenly, Hux is being pushed across his office, stumbling backwards. Ren’s eyes flame, his nostrils flaring wide and his mouth thinning. His hand clenches at his side.

It is as though the very air itself has tightened around Hux, coming up to wrap itself around his throat. It does not steal his breath away, though. Instead, it presses hard on his trachea, and Hux’s back goes stiff in pain. Invisible hands push harder, and he gasps. It feels as though there is something stuck inside his throat, something compacting it, yet leaving him conscious.

“More than you,” Ren hisses at him. “I have more power than you will ever dream of, Hux. Do not think that sharing my bed means you will ever equal me.”

“No. Sharing your bed only lowers me to your level,” Hux rasps out. His voice sounds harsh in his ears. 

Ren takes a step forward. Then his fingers unbend at his side. Just as Hux relaxes, as the pressure on his throat lessens, Ren’s hand jerks out. Hux flies across the room, hitting the wall hard. 

“I will find out what the Resistance knows of Skywalker. I will find Skywalker. You will see how you are chained, how those rules you cling to are nothing more than a crutch.” 

Hux starts to push himself off the floor, muscles aching with the effort. But Ren’s hand comes up, and this time the pressure around his throat steals his breath away, and with it, consciousness. 

***

When Hux wakes up, he’s still slumped on the floor of his office, a heap of bruised flesh. He pushes himself up, his back aching from where it hit the wall earlier. As he stands, his fingers go to his throat, pressing into the ring of bruises there. 

He stumbles to his desk, collapsing into the chair. His datapad’s screen is pulsing with sickly blue light, two waiting messages. He opens it, and Phasma’s face fills the screen. 

“What is it?” Hux asks, voice still rough.

“Sir. An hour ago, Ren arrived to sign out a subsquad of troopers. As there were no plans in place, I attempted to contact you. However, before I could reach you, Ren overrode my orders and took part of FC squad. He has since left the ship.”

Hux groans. Then he straightens up, wiping his face of emotion. 

“I’m sorry, Phasma. I was unavailable. Ren is, of course, a commander of this ship, and does have powers to requisition troopers if he so desires.” 

The words ring hollow in his mouth. _Practicality_. Better to maintain the appearance of harmony than let on about his and Ren’s altercation. As Hux thinks of the look on Ren’s face, his shoulders round, body going tight. He cannot believe…

“Sir?” Phasma sounds concerned. “Are you alright?”

Hux shakes himself, straightening in his chair. 

“Fine, Phasma.” He clenches his fingers, nails digging into his palms. “Ren is on a reconnaissance mission. He may not be back for some time. Consider training the rest of FC with the FN corps until he returns.”

Phasma nods. Her eyes are narrow, but she says nothing else. She simply ends the call, and Hux’s datapad goes dark. 

He sits there for long moments, staring at the screen. The room is silent. All Hux can hear is the rasp of his own breath and the remembered echo of Ren’s words. It’s an echo that aches more than any of his bruises. 

***

Two days pass before the ache subsides. Hux walks about without a limp, but at night, he pulls off his tunic and looks at the deep bruises that litter his back. He curls on his side in his empty bed, wondering if he will ever get warm again. 

On the third day, his com buzzes as he walks to the bridge. Hux taps at it, and Thanisson’s voice comes tinny to his ears. 

_FC subsquad leader on the line to report in. Shall we hold him until you arrive at the bridge, sir?_

Hux’s breath hitches. He shakes himself a little, trying to slough off the sudden chill that has made its way up his back. 

“Is he in immediate danger?” he asks. 

_He reports the area completely pacified at this time, sir._

“Alright, then. Send the com to my office. I’ll be there momentarily.”

Hux’s feet speed without his command, and soon he’s racing through the corridors to his desk. When the door to his office finally slides open, he hardly waits until it closes behind him to call up the coms. The line splutters on. 

_FC-8452 here._

“This is General Hux” he replies, “This is a secure line.”

 _Sir!_ the trooper sounds startled, even over the thin audio-only transmission. 

“Your mission with Commander Ren is confidential at the highest levels. You’ll be speaking only to me for its duration.”

_Y-yes, sir!_

“Now, status report. Casualties, completion?”

 _Ah..._ the trooper sounds thrown. _I couldn’t really tell you about completion, to be honest, sir. Commander Ren has not briefed us on mission parameters. Casualties are low, only one so far._

Hux rubs his eyes. Of course Ren hasn’t briefed them. That would be too much to hope, what with leaving Hux unconscious on the floor and taking the squad while Hux could do nothing about it. 

“A single casualty?” he asks.

_Commander Ren took a blaster bolt to the thigh when we arrived on the planet_

Hux sits down with a thump in his chair. Ren, wounded. Ren, bleeding across those dark robes. Ren, harmed. He takes a deep breath. 

“Is… Is the Commander seriously wounded?” His voice shakes, and his fingers clench into fists. 

_He’s put a bandage on it and seems functional. We don’t have our medic with us to make a full report, sir, but Commander Ren seems certain that he will make a full recovery._

Hux gulps down air, filling his lungs almost desperately. He can hardly feel the press of his nails now. His thighs ache as he presses them together, bones grinding against one another. 

“Good. Continue to report in.” Hux cuts the com connection before he can say anything else. He sits there in silence. He lets his eyes slide shut. 

He needs to recall the squad, and with them, Ren. Ren cannot prevent the entire subsquad from returning, and he’ll have to come back with them. He cannot let Ren stay out there, bleeding, broken, hurt. 

And who is that squad, that they let their commander become injured immediately on arrival to the planet? Hux makes a mental note to remind Phasma to train them better in the future. It is a disgrace. It is a travesty.

He needs to get Ren back. 

This is what happens when Ren goes off without consulting him. He cannot… 

Hux hangs his head, eyes still closed. The feeling is coming back into his fingers slowly. One by one, he unbends them. They straighten slowly, each joint its own grinding hinge. When they finally lay flat, palms up in his lap, Hux opens his eyes. 

The leather is torn across the palms of his gloves. There are a series of tiny rents, each the perfect curve of a fingernail. Blood seeps out as he watches. It’s almost the same color as the gloves themselves, red black and gleaming in the light. He bites his lip. 

It is nothing compared to what Ren must be feeling. 

It does not matter. 

***

Hux goes about his duties in a haze, palms still bleeding inside a new pair gloves. He snaps at Phasma when she comes to report on trooper training, and Mitaka when he fails to properly reroute a vid feed of the TIE exercise. Finally, he finds himself alone in his quarters, shadows under his eyes and the sides of his face streaked with sweat. 

He stips off his gloves, and flakes of dried blood fall onto the bright white of his sink. They speckle it in star patterns, and for a moment Hux imagines that it is a map. But not one leading to Luke Skywalker, to a broken man hiding at the edge of the galaxy. No, his map will lead to Ren, to the warmth that he misses from his bed, to the hands that should run over his body. It would lead him to where he could heal the hurts of Ren’s body, and take comfort in the press of Ren’s lips. 

Then he washes his hands. 

The blood disappears in the sharp spray from the faucet, and Hux is left alone again. He dries his hands quickly, then goes back into his bedroom. 

There must be a way to get Ren to return. He cannot leave Ren out there, in the care of troopers ill suited to the duty. He must have Ren back. 

***

Hux does not sleep. Throughout his off duty shifts, he tosses and turns. The bed is too large. 

When he closes his eyes, he sees Ren lying beside him, blood pooling out from his thigh. When he opens them, he makes plans to retrieve Ren. He cannot think, cannot read reports, though he sits staring at his datapad for hours. He cannot write. 

All he can think of is Ren. 

At the beginning of first shift, he gets up. He pulls on his uniform mechanically. He smoothes his hair in front of the mirror, parting it carefully. Then he pulls on his gloves, fingers clumsy from yesterday’s mistreatment. 

His feet do not carry him to the bridge. 

This is not his shift, after all. Instead, they lead him down the long corridor to the lift. It whirrs as he climbs in and punches in his authorization code. 

The corridors in the depths of the ship are cold, dark and dank feeling, even though Hux knows they are lit just as well as the main body of the ship. He makes his way down one, then opens the door to auxiliary control. 

“Ready reconditioning chamber.” His voice is slow, mechanical. 

“Authorization needed,” the ship responds, slow, sonorous. 

“Authorization H-7432901.” Hux takes a step towards the inner chambers. 

He has not broken the rules, or no more than he always does. 

He is broken, instead. 

He cannot function with this inside him. This desperate ache when he thinks of Ren, this frantic need for the man. He cannot think of Ren before he thinks of the Order. He cannot owe Ren his loyalty. 

He must be fixed. 

He walks forward, and one of the three doors in the opposite wall slides open. 

When he is inside, he removes his uniform, folding it carefully. He sets his boots under the low bench, making sure they are perfectly aligned. Then, naked, he faces the next door. 

The chill air presses around him when he steps inside the next chamber. It is pitch dark, but he knows where he is going better than he knows the path to his own quarters. The grating on the floor bites into the soles of his feet, but Hux continues forwards. 

When he reaches the middle of the room, he turns. Then he relaxes into the chair that he knows stands there. A bar comes to rest across his forehead, and Hux feels probes attach themselves to each of his temples. 

“Commence reconditioning program R-03” he orders. 

Then, as the opposite wall lights with swirling colors, Hux’s mind goes blissfully blank. 

***

When Ren returns, almost unharmed, and utterly unsuccessful, Hux shuts the door to his chambers in Ren’s face. 

Ren is a distraction. 

A dalliance with him is of no value to the Order. Thus it is of no value to Hux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Self harm: Hux digs his fingernails into his palm and makes himself bleed
> 
> +Kylo chokes Hux without Hux's consent. 
> 
> This took a long time to write. _Hopefully_ the next chapter will not take anywhere near as long. I've been wanting to write chapter three this entire time, so it should go much quicker. 
> 
> Find me and bother me about it on tumblr a [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)


	3. Detachment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is. The last chapter. Set during TFA. See the end notes for specific warnings.

The interruption comes late in the night cycle. Hux has been off shift for an hour and a half, and his fingers ache from filling out reports on his datapad. He’s digging them into his temples, hoping to relieve some of the pressure building there when his door chimes. 

He ignores it. If it was urgent, they would have commed him, and he’s in no mood to answer. They’re in the final stages of Starkiller’s construction, no thanks to Ren and his increasingly erratic quest for the map. Hux can’t be distracted now. He must be detached from the rest of the crew’s petty human problems. He must rise above them, and now, now he can. 

The door chimes again. 

Hux rubs his temples harder. Now they ache too, the tremble in his knuckles only a shadow compared to the one in his head. He looks across the desk to where the hypospray with his migraine meds sits. For a moment his fingers reach out to it, but then bites his lip. If he uses it now, he’ll be up half the night. And with the work he has left to do, he can’t let himself forgo rest. 

There’s a bang at the door. _Someone is actually using their fist_ on Hux's door. He levers himself up from his desk, using his sore fingers to push himself up onto shaky legs. Then he stalks to the door, straightening his spine and clasping his hands hard behind his back. 

“What!” he says as it slides open.

“Hux, we need to talk.” 

It’s Ren. Of course it’s Ren. The man hasn’t been able to leave Hux alone since he got back from his useless trip to try to find out how much the Resistance knows about the Order's search for the map. His helmet is off, his hair hanging down in front of his face, but even so, Hux can see the deep shadows under his eyes. A sharp pang of pleasure starts its way through him, satisfaction that Ren is just as exhausted as he is, but Hux digs his fingernails into his palms behind his back. Detachment, even in this. 

“What do you need, and have you forgotten how to make an appointment with your datapad?” He asks instead. 

“What the fuck?” Ren’s voice is too loud in the corridor, and he pushes his way forwards, making his way inside Hux’s room before Hux can stop him.

“Yes, Ren?” Hux says flatly. “Did you have a concern?”

“You’re fucking right, I have a concern. What’s going on?”

“We are currently completing the largest weapon in the galaxy, and you’re on some quest to find a vanished mystic who will not support our goals for restoring safety to the galaxy. Does that answer your question?”

Ren’s hand slams into the wall next to Hux his mask looming as he brings his face close. Hux takes a deep breath, letting his fingers press into the meat of his palms. He can’t quite feel the bite of his nails through the leather of his gloves, but the pressure is enough to send a shiver through his body. When it leaves him, calm follows, his heartbeat no long pounding in his ears. 

“A problem, Ren?” He asks. 

“You, Hux. Aren’t you ignoring the Bantha in the room?”

Hux lets his lips curl into a smirk. 

“Do you mean our former sexual relationship, Ren? I’m sorry it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” Ren’s voice pitches up, noticeable even through the synthesizer in his helmet. “I want to know why you’re ignoring me.”

“I recently had the opportunity to reevaluate my priorities, Ren. Luckily, I realized how detrimental our relationship was to my devotion to the Order.”

“I am part of the Order.”

“No, Ren,” Hux almost laughs at the notion, “You’re not. You will never be.”

He hardly hears Ren’s voice as he walks away, rejection ringing in his ears even as his stomach clenches and his chest ache. 

***

Hux stares out the viewport as the Finalizer hovers over Jakku. The planet is wreathed in dust, and he cannot even begin to pick out where Lor San Tekka’s settlement perches below. Somewhere down there, the man hides, guarding a secret in the middle of the desolate landscape. 

As Hux watches, a siren sounds behind him on the bridge. He turns slowly, his hands clenched behind his back, arching up against the way his shoulders want to slump. 

“Captain Phasma is requesting transport launch,” Mitaka tells him, voice snapping out across the quiet space. 

“Tell her to proceed when ready,” Hux lets out a long sigh. Phasma had assured him that this would simply be and in and out. 

_“Just another one of Ren’s wild bantha chases,” she’d said, lazing back in the chair across from Hux in his office._

_“Easier to appease him than to lower morale,” Hux replied. Phasma laughed._

_Very practical, Hux,” she’d commented, and his stomach had filled with heat, a spark of pleasure flooding through him._

Now he nods at Mitaka, turning to the scope to watch the launch. The shuttles fan out as they fall through the atmosphere, the temperature readings pitching up. As he watches, Ren’s shuttle appears on the the scope. 

Hux’s hands tighten behind himself, and his teeth dig into his lip. He shifts from foot to foot, then catches himself, planting each heel carefully. He forces his eyes to stay fixed on the scope, _detachment_ repeating endlessly in his mind. 

“Kylo Ren’s shuttle has cleared the upper atmosphere,” Thannison calls out, and Hux frees his heels from the deck. He turns to the bridge, clearing his throat as his voice catches. 

“Set the ship on a retrieval course. I don’t anticipate much time spent on the surface.”

Just as he finishes, the speakers at his console crackle. His hand slaps down on the receiver, and Phasma’s voice comes through clearly. 

“Taking fire. We’re suppressing it, but there’s a Resistance ship down here.”

“Eliminate it. Save the pilot if you can,” Hux clenches his jaw, biting off the words. 

He takes a deep breath as Phasma signs off the coms. A minor skirmish is good. A minor skirmish with a Resistance pilot means they might finally be done with this fool’s quest. 

The screen flashes as Ren’s shuttle touches down on the surface, and Hux squeezes his hands tightly together, the leather of his gloves creaking. He bites his lip. This is not the same as the last time Ren went out on a mission. Hux fixes the image of the lower decks in his mind, stalking through them on ghostly boots. He lets his mind stride into the reconditioning suite and settle into the reconditioning chair. 

That is where he belongs. 

He holds the image in his mind as the blinking marks of stormtrooper trackers line up in the holoplot. He lets the lights of the reconditioning center fill his mind's eye, his tongue tasting copper and iron as his teeth dig even further into his lip. 

“Ren has the pilot,” Phasma’s voice breaks through the wall of the reconditioning chamber in his mind. Hux lets his hands fall to rest on the rim of the holotank. His palms ache.

“Bring him to detention A,” Hux orders. He clenches his hands harder around the rim, his gloves stretching to contain him. Ren doesn’t have the map, then. His shoulders have relaxed, and Hux isn’t quite sure what the relief comes from. They are only up one solitary Resistance prisoner, nothing more. There is nothing to be relieved about. 

He glances down at the holotank, noting that all but one of the shuttles is flashing a full complement of troopers and officers. 

Ren’s shuttle is full. 

Hux breathes out slowly. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath. He shakes himself. No injuries. That’s clearly why he’s relieved. No wasted resources. That’s all. 

***

Hux steps into his office. The prisoner is being brought to the cell blocks and he finally has a chance to lower himself into his chair. He takes a long, deep breath, unclenching his hands. 

The expedition to Jakku has turned out more successfully than he expected. This is the first time that they’ve captured someone operating independently for the Resistance, someone who has no fellows to take hope form, someone who knows no rescue is coming. This might be the first chance they have to get solid intel. 

He taps the coms, letting the investigators know that they can begin. For a moment, he presses his feet to the floor, about to stand. Then he forces himself to relax, lets his spine collapse and his legs spread wide. Detachment. He has to let his investigators do their work. He opens up the feed from the trooper helmets, running through the footage from Jakku quickly. Ren’s saber flashes in the feed, and Hux clenches his hands on the edge of the data pad. 

As he stares down, there’s a faint hiss from across the room. Hux shifts a little, pressing his legs together and sitting up straight. Then, finally, he looks up at the door. Ren stands there, helmet tucked under his arm. When Hux finally meets his eyes, Ren drops the helmet to the floor, stalking towards him. 

“Finally decided to notice me, have you?” Ren snarls. 

“I’m very busy, Ren.”

“Too busy to actually attend to the search for Skywalker’s map?”

Hux almost groans, annoyance surging inside him. 

“If you must know,” Hux says, his voice icy, “I was reviewing your footage.” He presses himself up out of his chair so that he can face Ren eye to eye.

“And? Did you happen to find the map?”

“Not any more successfully than you did.” Hux replies. “I have my investigators working now.”

“Do you really think they’ll get anything out of the pilot? Shouldn’t you be down there yourself?”

“I have a number of demands on my time, Ren. I trust my crew.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why? Do you have a reason to doubt their competence?” Hux snaps. 

“Let’s see. Come down with me. See how your precious investigators are faring.”

“Fine.”

***

They ride down silently. Hux looks straight ahead, trying not to glance towards Ren’s bare face. There is something in his eyes that Hux cannot confront, not now. When the lift stops, Ren slips his helmet back on. Hux sighs softly to himself, then turns to face Ren. 

Ren nods to him, and the lift opens. Hux pushes past him, his skin prickling where his bare wrist brushes Ren’s robe. He grabs his wrist with his other hand, trying to rub away the goose-flesh of memory. Ren steps up next to him, the blackness of his helmet tipping to one side. Hux turns away from that dark stare. The pilot needs to be investigated, and no creeping sense of Ren’s eyes on the back of his neck will distract him. 

As he and Ren reach the room, they find the investigators standing outside. The three of them snap to attention as Hux and Ren approach. 

“Report,” Hux snaps out, his voice tight with Ren’s presence. He digs his fingers into his wrist, holding back a gasp at the pain and the punishment. 

“We’re letting him cool off a bit, sir,” one of the investigators tells him. 

“Have you found anything yet?” Ren’s voice rasps out. 

The three investigators take a step back. One of them shifts from side to side. 

“Not much. We have a name, sir.”

“And?” Hux prompts. He needs to work with them on how they react to Ren. They aren’t following the rules. 

“Poe Dameron, sir,” the investigator snaps out, his voice stronger now. 

Beside Hux, Ren stiffens, his shoulders drawing up and his whole body seeming to vibrate. Hux takes a deep breath, his hand twitching out towards Ren almost instinctually. 

“Thank you. You’re relieved for now,” he tells the investigators. They leave without a backwards glance. 

Hux’s hand lands on Ren’s back before he can stop himself. He keeps it there for a single instant, one lone man in the dark comforting a trembling wild beast. Ren calms slightly, his shoulders slumping, and suddenly Hux realizes that he’s so far past charm that he has lost sight of the far edge. There is nothing about the warm press of Hux’s hand on Ren’s back inside his short cowl that bares any resemblance to detachment. He pulls away abruptly. 

“Do you know him?” he asks, his voice a little shaky. He stands up straighter, grabbing his wrist again to still the trembling. 

“Yes,” Ren answers curtly. Then his helmet swivels towards Hux. “I did… once upon a time,” he finishes, and his voice is softer now, gravely with emotion that seems caught in his throat. 

“Is- ” Hux catches himself, nodding slowly. “I assume you are fine investigating him?”

“Fine,” Ren snaps. “I’m fine.”

Hux steps back away from Ren, straightening his shoulders. Ren doesn’t need him.

***

It doesn’t take long before Ren steps back out of the room. He gives Hux some waffle about a droid, and Hux snaps out a curt answer. He cannot let the detachment filling him up fade away. He doesn’t have high enough walls to let them down even an inch. 

Ren storms past him, and his cape brushes over Hux’s knuckles. Hux shivers. 

***

Hux slams his fist against a wall. They’ve lost a TIE and a trooper, not to mention the map. And all they have to show for it is the faint chance that they’ll find one escaped prisoner and a traitor, down on a desert planet under the beating sun.

His breath hisses through his teeth as he paces about his office. The deck hums under his feet, the phantom feel of Finalizer’s gigantic engines making its way into his bones and calming him a little. He lets his back slump against the wall. His knuckles smart, and he looks down to see them already red and swollen. Hux’s eyes prickle. He shakes his hand, trying to clear away the fog of failure from his mind. 

“What are you doing?” Ren’s voice snaps out from the doorway. 

“Have you ever heard of making an appointment?” Hux’s voice breaks on the words. 

“This particular issues seemed to merit further discussion, Hux.”

“I think you said all you needed to on the bridge.”

Hux needs to get himself under control. He is better than this. His personal frustration should mean nothing in the face of the Order. He is better than his father, he can be better, more loyal. Ren cannot change that. 

“Hux…”

Ren’s voice has an odd, new sound in it, and Hux looks up at him. His helmet is still, bent down a little as he looms over Hux’s slumped form. 

“What, Ren? I can’t go back and build your clone army now, even if I wanted to.”

“Of course not,” Ren’s voice is flat. 

“I would not do it even if I could,” Hux tells him. “I would rather have an army of loyal troopers than a horde of identical unreliable clones.”

“You don’t even have that,” Ren snaps.

“I will.” Hux pushes himself off the wall, flexing his aching fingers with a wince. 

“It doesn’t even work. Your reconditioning, I mean. How do you propose to build your perfect army when your program doesn’t work?”

“One aberration does not disprove the program, Ren.”

“One?”

“Yes, one!”

Ren moves closer before Hux can stop him. One finger reaches out and presses to Hux’s cheek. It burns against Hux’s skin. His heart beats faster, blood rushing in his ears, sweat springing out at his temples. For a fleeting moment, Hux wonders if Ren is using the Force to speed his breathing. Then his pulse’s thudding rhythm washes away his thoughts. He’s left panting, his cheeks flushed, his mind blank. 

They stand there for long moments, a single point on Hux’s cheek connecting them together. Ren’s helmet tips closer to him. The leather of Ren’s glove seems to heat even further, and into Hux’s mind comes an image of himself, stalking through the ship, a scar on his cheek in a perfect oval. The picture is so strong, so compelling, that for a moment Hux believes it, thinks he can hear the thump of his own footsteps and feel his coat billowing out behind him. 

Ren steps away, his hand falling to one side. The image rushes away from Hux even as he releases a tightly held breath. 

“Only one,” Ren breathes. 

Then he turns away, his robes flowing out behind him. Before Hux can respond, Ren has slipped through the door. Hux raises his fingers, bare and trembling, and runs them over his own cheek. He half expects that he will find the skin there burned away, a charred circle where Ren’s glove rested. 

There is nothing there. 

Hux slides to the ground. His legs spread in front of him. He leans his head back against the bulkhead. The doubt in Ren’s voice echoes through his mind, a counterpoint to his tingling cheek. What other failure could Ren be speaking of? There have been no other traitors. Hux is not a failure. His troopers are not. He will not let them be, not even in his own mind. 

***

Hux stalks out of the control room. The air inside is thick and heady, the bridge crew poised at their stations, ready to fire when he commands. He keeps his chin up and forwards as he makes his way towards the outer door of the station. His belly is clenched tight, the inside of it twisting and roiling with the promise of what is to come. As he passes, hurrying stormtroopers snap to attention. They all look their best, each in perfect polished armor, each with a finish and flair that Hux can be proud of. 

Phasma falls in next to him when he nears the exit out onto the platform. Her helmet gleams in the lights that run down the length of the wall, cold and metallic, a perfect counterpoint to the flaming red of her cape. She nods to him. 

“Your great triumph,” she mutters, and her voice is a rumble coming through the filter in her helmet. “Do you wish your father could have seen it?”

“No,” Hux doesn’t even have to think. “He would not have been able to maintain the proper detachment.”

Phasma laughs. The sound clangs out, and Hux pauses, turning to look at her. 

“I wondered when you would surpass him in following those rules of his,” she explains. “I think you might have. I’ve never heard you so able to discount his opinion.”

Hux’s cheeks heat a little, but he says nothing, only nods in response. There is a low throb in the pit of his stomach, something that joins his rising excitement. It’s a pulse of pleasure, delight at how things are finally, finally falling into place. 

“Are your troopers prepared for the rally?” Hux asks instead of responding. 

“Of course. They are standing by as controllers for the rank and file, and have been instructed on the course of the speech.”

“Excellent,” Hux smiles, starting to walk again. 

The door out to the platform looms in front of them, and he takes a deep breath. Charm, practicality, detachment. Then he steps out into the chill air. The cold of it hits him full in the face, and he gasps again. It floods his lungs, tightening his chest and making his hands clench involuntarily in his gloves. He takes a moment to let himself adjust, looking out across the rest of the officers already assembled. 

Rows of black uniforms greet him, each perfectly poised to show off the Order to its effect. Each is just like the last, each a flawless display of military power and prowess. There is only one thing missing. 

Even though Hux knows that Ren is on the Finalizer, millions of miles above him, hanging in space to watch the weapon activated, there is a hole here, on the planet, where Ren belongs. The galaxy, the universe needs to see that the Order stands united. That they control both the greatest weapon the galaxy has ever seen, and also the innermost workings of its wonders. Ren’s menacing bulk seems the perfect counterpoint to the beautiful order before him. It would have been a sign that even the most powerful in the Force were subject to the Order’s rules. 

He shakes his head ever so slightly. It is not to be. Ren has his place, as does Hux. There is no use regretting the absence of one man, even one so powerful. 

He takes the final steps forward to the front of the platform. 

The words seem to flow before he has a chance to gather his thoughts. 

_“… the last day of the Republic…”_

He finds himself breathing hard. His pulse pounds in his ears, his mouth watering with anticipation of his final words. Heat gathers low in Hux’s belly, joining the throb already there. It’s an exultant feeling, yet one that that is tinged with the slightest bittersweet edge. 

_“Fire!”_ He screams, and the whole planet shudders beneath his feet. It is the gathering of a storm, and for a moment, Hux cannot but think of how much of a waste it is. All those people, all that technology, all wiped out in an instant because they cannot learn to bend the knee. They cannot learn their proper place in the Order of the galaxy, and so they are all going to die. He breathes deep, his eyes watering slightly as he thinks of how many of them could have been saved if they had simply known the rules. 

Yet they did not, and like all who do not follow the rules, they are going to die. 

***

\------- Classification: 50 -------  
\------- 0546, 17 Third Month, 34 ABY --------

TO: ARMITAGE HUX, GEN  
BFO STARKILLER

\---message begins---

Rebel ship MILLENNIUM FALCON discovered on TAKODANA. Finalizer, under command of KYLO REN to depart immediately to retrieve datachip with information about the location of LUKE SKYWALKER. Information will be transported to STARKILLER BASE after retrieval.

\---message ends---

Hux has not seen Ren since Starkiller Base belched forth its cleansing fire and rid the galaxy of the Republic. He had gotten the message only hours afterwards. And immediately on its heels, Hux’s datapad had buzzed with a personal communication. 

**[From: Ren. 17.03.34., 0547]** Your weapon was very impressive, General. I wish I could have gotten to see your face.

Hux had squirmed with the intimacy of it. He had debated ignoring the message. What right did Ren have to send him such things? But then he’d shaken his head. Detachment. If he did not response, what right did he have to claim he was not affected. 

**[To: Ren. 17.03.34., 0549]** Does your mission require it?

 **[From: Ren. 17.03.34., 0549]** No, but I do.

Hux had shaken his head, trying not to wonder about it. He can’t resist though, even now with Ren on his way back. 

Ren has apparently captured a prisoner. Apparently, the prisoner knows the location of Skywalker’s base. Apparently, the datachip is no longer needed. Hux rolls his shoulders as he makes his way down to the landing pad. So many assurances from Ren, and he’s sure of none of them. He doesn’t seem to be sure of anything with Ren right now. 

He steps out onto the walkway above the shuttle pad, looking below himself. Ren’s shuttle is just touching down. The hiss of the door is audible from the upper walkway. As he watches, troopers file out, their helmets tarnished by dust and blaster fire. Then Ren follows, a woman cradled in his arms. Hux bites his lip. The prisoner. She looks frail and small in Ren’s arms, but apparently she is worth something. 

Apparently, she’s worth the dead troopers, the injured ones, the ones who Hux can still imagine screaming for help on the battlefield. 

The casualty reports came in just before Ren arrived. They pale before the havoc wreaked on the Hosnian system, but they are Hux’s troopers, and that makes all the difference. So many of them lost in the Resistance attack on Takodana, and all for this. 

They did not even manage to retrieve the traitor. Hux had hoped they would be able to do so. If they had, he would have had a chance to prove the reconditioning program is successful, prove it once and for all. If they had, he would have run FN-2187 through the program time and time again, until he realized where his true loyalties lay. 

But they did not. All those troopers lost, and what do they have to show? Just one lost little girl, one girl that Ren somehow thinks can replace all the resources spent on her capture. Hux’s breathing speeds and his throat tightens. Ren is almost out of the hangar with her now, taking her to interrogation B. 

It had better be worth it. It has to be. 

***

When Hux leaves the audience chamber, Ren’s desperate eyes still burning into his mind, he goes straight back to his office. He must begin plans to target the Resistance base on D’Qar. It will make a perfect demonstration that the Order is not simply one enormous weapon with nothing else to back it up. It will show that the Order fleet is a scalpel that can root out rot and corruption just as well as Starkiller can smash the past into shattered pieces. 

He has just begun to set the giant machinery of the Order’s rank and file in motion when his datapad chimes with a top priority message. 

\------- Classification: 100 -------  
\------- 0322, 18 Third Month, 34 ABY --------

TO: ARMITAGE HUX, GEN  
BFO STARKILLER

\---message begins---

Target ILEENIUM system in totality. RESISTANCE must be destroyed. STARKILLER to begin powering up immediately by order of SL SNOKE.

\---message ends---

Hux slams his fist down onto his desk, then pulls back. He digs his nails into his palm, letting the pain spread through him and calm him. This is not right. It is too soon. The weapon has not been targeted yet, because the Resistance is still gathering its breath. But if they target the Ileenium system the Resistance will have no choice. Far better to send the fleet than to use the weapon. He takes a deep breath. 

When he presses the directly line that connects him to Supreme Leader Snoke, it chimes softly. Hux waits for long moments before the datapad lights with a message indicating a meeting in the audience chamber is possible in ten minutes. Hux indicates receipt then makes his way out of the room. He can do this. He can argue his case. 

He makes it into the chamber with two minutes to spare. He settles himself in place, straightening the folds of his jacket carefully and flicking a minute particle of dust from one lapel. Then the hologram flickers into life again, Snoke towering above him. 

“General,” Snoke’s voice booms out above him. 

“Supreme Leader, the fleet is prepared to target D’Qar. It will be a perfect chance to prove ourselves on the open battlefield.”

“Are you questioning my choice to use the weapon, General?”

Hux takes a deep breath. He clenches his hands behind his back, digging his fingers into his palms more sharply than before. 

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” he manages to get out, his voice shockingly steady. 

“Speak,” Snoke’s voice is clipped, his twisted face blank.

“The Resistance has not targeted the weapon yet because they are afraid. If we force them to do so - if we use the weapon against them - they will throw everything they have at us. Starkiller is well defended, yes, but why should we risk our most precious asset? We can send the fleet to the Ileenium system more easily than draining another star, and we can show the galaxy we are more than a rogue group with one enormous advantage.”

For long moments, Snoke only looks at him. Hux feels his breathing start to speed. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

Then Snoke laughs. The sound is hard and brittle in the chill air of the audience chamber, and it echoes through Hux, making his blood run cold and his skin prickle. 

“Even you have a breaking point, General,” Snoke chuckles. “My perfect General, crafted just for me by rules and technology beyond that the universe has ever seen, and even you fail.”

“I have not failed!” Hux exclaims, unable to hold back. 

“I know those rules your father set you,” Snoke snaps, his good humor vanishing in an instant. “Charm, practicality… _detachment_. Is this detachment?” 

“I only want what’s best for the Order.”

“Oh General, now I understand why my apprentice can work with you. Even you have your petty attachments. This weapon is more than a weapon to you, you know? So like my apprentice, unable to let go.”

“I’m nothing like Kylo Ren,” Hux cannot stop himself from protesting. 

“Then prove it. Use the weapon on the Ileenium system. Prove you are not trying to protect your weapon from them, that you are willing to do what it takes. Prove your detachment to me, General. Or else accept that you have failed.”

***

At first it seems to go so well. The sun drains away, the light fading from the sky as Hux watches. The Resistance has sent only a single squad of fighters, and they cannot penetrate the shielding around the base. Hux looks on as they fall out of the sky, crashing and burning in a fiery death. 

Then, all of an instant, it falls apart. There is a flare of light, and alarms blare across the control room. Hux takes a single glance at his datapad before he knows what is happening. He sends a frantic request to Snoke. Then he dashes out of the room. 

Snoke looms above him in the audience chamber. Hux pants out his report, starting whenever a block of falling masonry crashes to the floor. Snoke is so calm, so matter of fact, and it should be relaxing. Yet it is not. Snoke’s detachment washes over him, and there is nothing to it except for a cold wave of oblivion that takes away none of Hux’s fear for the Order. When the hologram blinks off, he stands there for a second, his chest heaving. 

Then he turns and runs from the chamber. Ren’s shuttle is on the landing pad when he skids into the hangar, and Hux vaults over a barrier to get to it. There is only one thing singing in his mind. _Obey orders, get to Ren._ It repeats over and over in his brain, like some failed routine in a broken computer, echoing continuously as he yells for troopers to join him. 

He is at the controls of the shuttle in an instant. He brings up Ren’s tracker on the screen. It pulses a dull red against the darkness of the dying shuttle bay, but it still pulses. Hux guns the controls, not bothering to check if the troopers are strapped in or not. They will be fine. 

He soars out into the dull white night of the planet. The only light comes from burning hulls and flaming fragments below him. It is a hell-scape of nightmarish white and black, and Hux focuses his eyes on the display. He cannot look that the wreck of his planet below. He must find Ren. 

Ren’s tracker pulses somewhere out in front of them, in the midst of the woods. Hux spares a single thought to wonder why Ren would have made his way out there when the base was under attack, but no more. The mantra starts again in his mind. His hands squeeze the controls, his training taking over as he pants. 

There is a clear space a little way away from Ren. The planet heaves and cracks as he sets the shuttle down. It rumbles with the pained cries of a dying beast, and now that Hux is so close to his goal, his heart cries out with the planet. He reaches up, and finds that he has to dash tears away from his cheeks. 

Then the door of the shuttle opens and the wind howls inside. It blows furious drifts of snow up the ramp, but Hux pays them little heed. The death throws of planet beat against him, but he only brushes them away like his tears. He has to get to Ren. That is his only goal. It is his duty, perhaps his last duty to the Order, and he will carry it out. 

The troopers fall in behind him. Hux motions to them with one hand, keeping his eyes fixed on his datapad. Ren should be just ahead. 

He sees the enormous chasm before he spots Ren in the trees, just a little way from it. It yawns wide, belching steam and noxious gas. Hux coughs, scanning the area. Then he sees Ren. 

Something breaks inside him. 

Hux flings his datapad aside in his headlong rush to Ren’s side. The snow is dappled with Ren’s blood, and his saber lies smoking at one side. Hux falls to his knees in the snow, knowing that he is kneeling in Ren’s life-force. 

“H-hux?” Ren coughs. 

“I’m here, Kylo,” the words fall from Hux’s lips before he can stop himself. 

“You came for me,” Kylo groans. “I did not think anyone would come for me.”

“How could I leave you?” Hux asks, his vision blurring. Kylo looks like he has been mauled by some wild beast, his face a bloody mess and his shoulder torn open. 

“You left me before. Shut me out.”

Hux is sobbing now, and he doesn’t know how to stop himself. He does not have the training for this. He cannot be detached now. He cannot be practical. There is nothing that tells him how to act, how to behave when his whole life is crumbling to pieces under his feet. The rules do not work. They cannot save him, even now, when he is loyal to the Order, when he has done everything right. 

The rules are useless.

“I was wrong,” he gasps out. “Oh damned Light, Kylo, I was wrong.”

Kylo nods, coughing again, the motion making more blood ooze down his face. He reaches up, and one finger traces Hux’s soaked cheeks. 

“Yes, you were.”

“I… I thought I was failing the Order. I thought you weren’t mine to have. I thought… fuck it. Fuck loyalty. Fuck the rules. I don’t…”

“Fuck them all,” Kylo growls, his voice a bubbling snarl that dies on the last word.

“I don’t know who I am,” Hux moans. 

“Nor do I,” Kylo whispers back. Just as he finishes, there is an enormous roar, and the chasm near them widens. Hux gasps, shaking his head, trying to clear his eyes of tears. 

“We have to go,” he forces the words out.

“Why? Let us die here,” Kylo tries to laugh. “Just one more casualty of those rules of yours.”

“No!” Hux almost yells. “I will not give in. Not now, not when I can finally see how much I’ve failed. I will not let my legacy be failure and death. I will not do it, Kylo Ren, not even for you.”

“There you go. That’s the fire I know you have,” Kylo’s voice is failing, and his eyes slip slowly closed. 

“Don’t you die on me, Kylo Ren. Not now that I’ve chosen you. Don’t you die on me if I’m finally willing to need you.”

Kylo says nothing in response. Hux looks around frantically. The troopers are standing a little way off, their heads bowed. He motions to them, his arms waving them in. 

“Carry him back to the shuttle. We have to leave.”

***

Hux paces around Kylo’s room. He’s been out of the onboard medsuite for an hour, and there’s nothing more they can do for him until they read the Finalizer. He lies, pale and bandaged, on the bunk in front of Hux. 

Hux’s uniform is heavy with grime. Blood stains his hands where he helped carry Kylo back to the shuttle. Ash covers the sleeves of his coat. His face is streaked with salt. Yet he cannot leave, not even to change. 

“I killed him.”

It’s a quiet groan from Kylo’s bunk, but even so, Hux is at his side in an instant, perched on the chair next to the mattress. 

“Who?” Hux asks. 

“My father.”

“On Starkiller?” Hux gasps. “He was there?”

“Yes. He… He told me he loved me and I killed him. I ran my saber through his heart, Hux.”

Hux reaches out, letting his hand rest on Ren’s chest. He spreads his fingers wide, feeling the scabs on his palm pull tight. 

“Do you feel better?” he asks quietly. 

“No.” Kylo laughs, and the sound still bubbles in his chest. There is something wrong there, but only time on Finalizer will help. 

“Detachment,” Hux whispers. “It’s a fucking lie, Kylo. I’ve… we’ve been wrong about everything. The rules don’t work. You killed your father. My planet died. _You almost died._ And what do we have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a fucking mess and the Order running to regroup.”

“I told you that you were trapped,” Kylo whispers. 

“I should have listened. You should have listened to yourself.”

“They all lied to us. They made us lie to ourselves.”

“They did,” Hux agrees. 

Kylo’s eyes are wide open now, and he reaches out to cup Hux’s cheek, even though the motion makes him gasp in pain. 

“We won’t let them do it again.”

Hux is so close to Kylo now that he can see the flame burning in Kylo’s eyes, can smell the blood that still clings to Kylo’s skin. He nods slowly. 

“Never again,” he promises. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to Kylo’s. 

Kylo’s lips are dry and cracked, rough skin at the corners and split corners. But Hux licks across them all the same, tasting desperation and defeat and determination. Kylo groans, and it’s half pain half pleasure. Hux doesn’t stop. He needs this. If the rules are a lie, if everything he’s ever known ends in pain and fire and death, then this is the only lifeline he has left. 

Kylo pulls him closer with the hand he has snaked behind Hux’s neck. He bites at Hux’s mouth, and he tastes like copper and ash. Hux drinks it down. It’s the bitter taste of failure. He licks it from Kylo’s mouth, trying to get more and more. 

He’s half out of his chair now, leaning over Kylo to kiss him hard. Kylo pants into his mouth, and Hux takes in the breaths as only part of his due. He breathes in air from Kylo’s lungs. It fills him up, steeling him against whatever is to come. 

There are no rules left. No detachment, not practicality. No charm but that of the broken man, scrabbling to find his feet on a slope that collapses beneath him. There is nothing but the smell of Kylo in his nose, the feel of Kylo’s blood on his lips. They have nothing but each other. 

The third rule was a lie. A cruel fabrication that could never be, that lead only to death and loss. 

Hux will not make that mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Canon typical violence 
> 
> +Canon typical blood/gore
> 
> +Thank you so much for everyone who's asked about this fic, and supported me in writing it. Thank you to [adolin](http://adolin.tumblr.com/) and [artyaourter](http://artyaouter.tumblr.com/) for their help figuring out the nitty-gritty early on. Thank you to the tumblr peeps who kept asking after it, and everyone who commented here. Thanks to the twit fam for putting up with my complaining. And of course thank you to [cuppyren](http://cuppyren.tumblr.com/) for just being amazing and supportive no matter what. 
> 
> +Find me on tumblr at [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/) to come chat.


End file.
